


Rough Beginnings.

by elveriamoir



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Battle of Azanulbizar, Bullying, Child Abuse, Child Loss, F/M, Parent/sibling Loss, Past-stories, The aftermath of Smaug, The coming of Smaug, Torture, Violence, War, Xenophobia, mentions of depression, post Battle of Azanulbizar, the fell winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:39:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elveriamoir/pseuds/elveriamoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don’t own any of The Hobbit characters, I am just taking them out of Tolkien’s toy box and playing with them.</p><p>Ties in with An Unexpected Encounter. This is the back stories of The Company.</p><p>I apologise now but this is not a happy collection of stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Musume_no_Suoh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musume_no_Suoh/gifts), [FanFiction_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFiction_Queen/gifts).



> FanFiction Queen & Musume_no_Suoh, this is for you. You have stuck by me since almost the beginning, you help me with my Sindarin or beta read my work. You also put up with my horrendous time keeping and schedule. 
> 
> To everyone else who is following my work, I dedicate this to you also. I cannot believe you have stayed with the story for so long.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick blurb.

_Introduction. ___

____

Tales are told of great heroes. Glamorous yet cold-hearted elves, stubborn dwarves affected by gold lust, the bravery of humans and the tenacity of a single hobbit. There are songs sung of them to the heavens and stories told in great halls. 

Bard the Bowman and his longstanding protection of his people culminating in the defeat of Smaug the terrible as he stared down the fearsome fire-drake, bring it to its watery grave with a single, well placed arrow. 

Thorin the gold-stricken, who after his madness had faced down the leader of an army of orcs and goblins alone and with nothing but a single axe. Who even when injured stood over his crumpled nephews, anger making him dangerous and reckless. The dwarven king who came out victorious, with his family, his mountain and who became a generous neighbour.

Fili the golden and Kili the moonlit. Standing back to back on the battlefield, barely of age and yet deadly warriors. The twins of light and shadow, with laughter always falling from their lips, and a dangerous smile on their faces. The crown prince and the hunter prince.

Dwalin the stoic, who stood tall in the midst of battle protecting the backs of the elven archers despite the insults they still merrily flung at each other. The dwarf who never smiled, never frowned. A huge battle axe strapped to his back and war-hammer in his grip. The protector, the guard who would give his life for anyone he deemed worthy of his protection.

Balin the warrior-diplomat. He of red velvet and white hair who shunned armour on the battle field and danced with deadly grace with the largest of enemies. Who wrangled the leaders of elves, men and dwarves when the battle was over, who brought great peace all while wearing a knitted scarf.

Gloin the battle-hardened. Strong of limb, with fiery hair and tactical mind. The races alike had followed him in manoeuvers that had no right to succeed and had come back with nary a scratch between them. Great warrior and brilliant father. 

Oin the healer. Mind that held more healing knowledge than even the elves who had swarmed around him in the aftermath. Age worn hands that had saved the life of many from not only the wounds they had gained, but the infection which swiftly followed. The dwarf who had saved them in the cold winter and the diseases which had swept in.

Nori the smiling assassin. Deadly grace, hard smile and emerald eyes as he slipped through the shadows, a gleam of a knife blade saving many in the battle. The spy who kept the underworld element away from the weakened kingdoms of Dale and Erebor. He of the kind-hearted who would entertain the children for hours.

Dori the strong. His pained cry had touched the heart of every father on the battle field as he stood with eyes blazing and braids loose in the centre of the malstorm of the battle, the orc who had committed the atrocity of striking down the moonlit prince taking an abrupt lesson in aerodynamics. The gentle dwarf who knelt by the dying and sung them into the afterlife, who held the newly orphaned young ones as they wailed and beat their tiny fists against his chest.

Ori the quiet. The colt like dwarf with knowledge to rival any of his elders, a sharp aim and who dressed in knits. A deadly shot with his slingshot, yet whose large hands scribed the most beautiful art and poetry. 

Bofur the ever cheerful. Unelegant, yet giving his whole heart to everything he did. From swinging a pick into the skull of an orc to swinging the same mattock into granite with ease. A joke always on his lips, laughter surrounding the air around him and a gleam in his single eye. 

Bifur the bi-faced. A combination of gentle and violent, his temper on the battlefield bringing the enemies low and leaving an ever widening circle around him. During battle he was the beserker. Out of battle he carved toys for the children, spoke softly and could be found bringing relief to any who needed it.

Bombur the cook. The rotund dwarf who could rarely be found far from a cooking fire and who made the most delicious meals. The protective brother who used his girth to literally bounce the enemy away from his brother and cousin. The one who opened channels into inter-race relations through his food.

Bilbo, the hobbit. The invisible, the silence shod. He who walked in shadows and riddled with dragons. Bird whisperer and king wrangler. He who gave away the heart of the mountain, but got it back alive and sane. 

The songs were brilliant and the stories flattering, and yet the fourteen members of The Company of Thorin Oakenshield found them lacking. In the flickering shade around a single campfire, far from the walls of Erebor and Dale, yet overshadowed by the ghosts of Mirkwood thirteen dwarves and a single hobbit told their own tales.


	2. The Halfling-Part One.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo Baggins. The lone hobbit and the youngest of The Company of Thorin Oakenshield.

_The Halfling-Part One._

 

Bilbo Baggins of Bag End eyed the heavy white clouds that had gathered with a wary sigh. At the tender age of eighteen his fingers were already numb of the freezing temperatures of the previous five day, it seemed his normal tweenage winter activities would have to be put on hold until the cold snap passed over. Grumbling at the loss of sharing a skin of wine with the bronze eyed beauty of Poppy Gamgee Whitfurrows, he tucked his mittened fingers into his armpits and hurried his steps as the first flakes of snow began to fall. He reached the vividly painted door of his home and cast one last doubtful glance at the still heavily laden sky. There was something about this cold that didn't seem altogether natural, but he supposed that like all odd weather patterns it would pass by with in a week or two.

He called a greeting to his father as he hurried into his room to change into more comfortable clothes to spend the evening. He paused a moment by the image of his Grandmother Laura Baggins nee Grubb, and forced himself to breath through the wave of grief that still washed over him two months after her death. Even with his mourning garb put away he still felt her loss keenly, as much as he loved his mother and father, (and they were a close knit family group) Grandmother Baggins was the one he had always gone to when he needed to vent, she was the one who had taught him the old ways and it was her journals he had studied excessively. She had understood his interest in Dwarrow and his love of adventure, yet she was also the only one who knew he loved hearth and home. Sighing softly Bilbo forced himself to turn away from her smiling portrait and headed to his closet. Maybe his grandmother's journals would have an answer to why this winter cold snap felt wrong to all his seven senses.

He was proved both wrong and right. Within two days of the snow starting to fall the Shire was cut off entirely, even their few hardy, shaggy ponies unable to traverse the paths. It was decided that Emergency Law was to be enacted and by the end of the week smaller smials had been abandoned and larger smials were full. Food would have to be rationed as the barns couldn't be reached, the cold so deep that even to step outside the doors was to court death. Fires blazed for all they were worth, yet even two weeks in, the elders realised the wood supplies would have to be rationed. The first time a hobbit confessed to not being hungry it was chalked up to the stress of the situation, when that hobbit started to cough gently in the night Bilbo started to hand out lemon and honey infused water. Not having passed so far in his training he knew enough to treat the symptoms, but not what was causing the problem. When the fourth hobbit started to cough, the first one's weight plummeted and bundled hobbits came from other smials begging for aid, Bilbo once again retreated to his grandmother's books.

_Phthisis pulmonalis _He placed the book down carefully and stared blankly at the wall. He had no way to treat such a disease, in an ideal world hobbits should never have even contracted the illness, yet current conditions were ideal for it to spread. With people packed close together, a lack of food and lack of air circulating they would be lucky if even an eighth of those in each smial survived. His mother found him and he wept into her shoulder as he showed her his findings. He watched as she too shuddered in horror at what an afflicted hobbit would have to face thanks to their ingrained defences. He was already writing recommendations and remedies to ease the symptoms, when she came to the same conclusion of the survival rate as he. He left her in his currently empty bedroom as he went to bundle up and do the rounds. It was laughable at first that an eighteen year old was the best healer Hobbiton had to offer, but with his grandmother dead he had the only training worth anything. Matrons accepted his remedies with thankfulness and he felt his heart ache as one cried in relief on his shoulder. He had the unthanking job of explaining just what the illness was, as parents and children of the afflicted listened on in dawning horror.__

Back in Bag End, rubbing a balm to increase his circulation onto numb toes and fingers Bilbo found his youngest Baggins cousin, Dora, coughing quietly into her hand. He bundled the tiny six year old into his arms and carried her to his own room. Caring little if his mother had managed to get the afflicted separated from others he set about easing the symptoms the child had. What followed was several days of no sleep and much stress and worry. Dora was smart enough to know that refusing food would speed things up, but she was a six year old child who was ill and wanted her mother and comfort. His great aunt Ruby had died only two days earlier and so it fell on Bilbo's shoulders to look after the girl. He was stubborn and when Dora wouldn't eat got her to sip water laced with honey and onion. He cleared the blood spotted handkerchiefs away and burnt them. He washed the sweat from her skin with lavender scented water and infused willow bark into water to ease her pain. Digging though his grandmother's books he found that he could let Dora have one drop of poppy milk a day and so at the child's worst fed her it mixed with water. 

The disease ran its course and the bodies were moved to the now empty cold pantries until they could be given the correct send off. To Bilbo's surprise, despite his estimates being correct over how many of his people would survive, not only had Dora managed to fight her way free but the disease had failed to touch his mother, father or himself. The cold let up slightly and with how wasted the adults, let alone the kits and remaining tweens looked, bounders attempted to head to the barns and bring supplies back. Many didnt return. Those that did brought bad news, Bilbo would have cried when he found out the supplies had turned rotten or been stolen, if he had had any energy left. 

With so few hobbits left the mayor decreed everyone be moved to the Town Hall, where medicines and food could be better rationed. They hobbits who had survived the illness were weak and confined to their beds, with many more being unable to do more than shuffle around tiredly. Belladonna, took several of the still able bodied lads hunting with her. Bungo set to at arranging supplies and medicines as well as defenses surrounding Hobbiton. Bilbo listened to the howls on the wind and shook with Dora in his arms on a night. During the day he worked endlessly in the healing area, or kitchen. He found it odd that he had enough will to keep going, when adults that had more body reserves left than he had collapsed with exhaustion. His skeletal hands sometimes shook as he wielded a kitchen knife, but when ever he thought to give in he would catch sight of Dora lying still and small in her cot and resolve would strengthen his spine. 

One night he had felt particularly shaky and as the howls filled the air once again Bilbo searched desperately for his mother, father, the mayor, Madame Coltsfoot or Bounder Trishle to let them know he thought the boundaries would break. None were to be found and so with a pounding heart and sweat slicking his burning skin he had slipped out of the doors unchallenged. He could hear snarling and snapping in the night air and so ignoring the cold that had immediately sunk to his bones he staggered through the snow towards the noise. The knee deep snow hindered his progress, but the moon finally lit a scene that had his blood boiling. He could barely take in the sight of the two starvation ravaged creature fighting over the broken body of a female hobbit. Blood stained the snow as they grappled and his last control on sanity slipped from him. He found himself reaching for the slabs of rock that were the top of someone's wall and with deadly accuracy threw them at the wolves. Curses were falling from his lips in ancient Shire tongue as he advanced still throwing rocks. One wolf went down, never to get up, the other finally fled as Bilbo reached the body and felt the pulse stop even as he catalogued the various injuries it had sustained.

His heart rebelled at the thought of leaving one of his own people to the mercy of the wolves roaming the night and so with strength born of the madness pumping his veins he managed to gather her to him, and ignoring the blood seeping into his iced skin staggered back towards the town hall. His entrance caused a wave of shock and as he stumbled to his knees to lay the body down gasps sprung up around the space. He barely heard them as he carefully brushed the matted hair from the too still face. As he idly re formed a braid in the female's hair he heard someone say that the body he had been carrying was Belladonna, and that it was disgraceful the way these hobbit's of Took blood always knew when another was in danger. Vaguely he questioned that fact as Grandmother Baggins had always said that was her family's gift, but he was more focused on the people who were determined it was hi smother's body he cradled to his chest. He could feel the trembling start in his limbs, the sweat beading on his forehead even as cold flooded him. Words were falling from his lips as he accused them all of lying to him as his mother had never broken a promise to him in her life, and she would hardly start when he needed her. Even as wild laughter broke from him hands grabbed his shoulders and forced him to still, to look at the body he held. The hands were the only thing holding him upright as he finally realised his mother was dead, had died because he was too later. He screams reached fever pitch, only to be broken by a wracking cough as he fell into the darkness of delirium. 

They sent him home in his delirium, his strength despite the fever making him a danger to all but his father, and the fear of a fresh bout of illness wiping out the last of them. He remembered little of those days, his grief coloured his feverish mind and his dreams were terrible, occasionally he could hear his father's voice imploring him to fight the disease. He could remember the pain of his body rebelling against him, even as his mind flayed him for letting his mother die. Three weeks in and he awoke to himself, struggling to breath and barely able to move so wasted was he. The silence bit at him, and the ghosts of those who he had let die haunted him as he fought to rise, wishing for nothing more than to join them in death. A crash caught his attention and suddenly he was afraid the wolves had made it into the house. He somehow dragged himself from the bed, lungs screaming in agony as he drew shaky, weak breaths and red hot needles stabbed his joints as he crawled across the floor. The unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor was followed by a clatter and a groan and he froze momentarily as he recognised the timbre of the voice. His father was injured. He staggered to his feet, the world spinning dangerously as his limbs shook, his head pounded and stomach tried to rebel. His lungs burning he took unsteady steps towards the direction he had heard the noise. His ears, dulled by illness pricked at the sound of desperate sobbing and a hand scrabbling for purchase on the floor. As he reached the hall he caught sight of his father lying face down on the floor, snow swirling in the dark night outside the open door and the gleam of torch light on the blood stained metal of his mother's sword.

His strength fled and Bilbo crashed to his knees, barely able to crawl towards his father as he noticed the blood pooling under Bungo's head. Gently shaking the shoulders brought him no response and so he tried to carefully turn his father over, cough as the cold air hit his raw lungs. He finally got his father's head cushioned on his knees and the healer in him fought to the surface to take stock of his Bungo's injuries. He felt horror wash over him as he realised his father's eyes were missing, blood streaming down pale cheeks. A terrifying scream reached his ears, yet even as he realised it was him he couldn't stop. Sobs mixed with the sound as he cursed the gods who had let this happen. He carefully wiped the blood away from his father's skin, falling silent as he felt his vocal cords tear with his screaming. Whispering broken promises of revenge and healing Bilbo wrapped his free arm around his father's shoulders as the older male coughed up pure blood. Cold fingers closed around Bilbo's unnaturally hot ones as his father gasped out an apology for leaving him alone. The world tilted as he heard the only stable in his life draw his last breath and sobs racked his own emaciated frame even as the Gaffer and Mistress Coltsfoot burst threw the door, rolling pin and garden fork at the ready. 

Bilbo struggled against the strong arms of the Gaffer as he was pulled away from his father's body, barely registering the pained gasp made by the old male as his fists made contact with ribs. Tears streamed freely down his face as dawn flooded the smial hall, illuminating the fallen form of Bungo Baggins. He found himself shaking for a full two days after that, even as the thaw started and rangers came with Gandalf to deal with the wolves and goblins. Bounder Captain Betty Proudfoot came to him herself to express remorse and grief at his father's passing explaining that her platoon had been eviscerated and it was only thanks to Bungo's fast and deadly response she had survived. The dame was limping badly, ribs bound, right arm in a sling and three lines running across her face to disappear under the bandage over her left eye. Bilbo nodded numbly, wrapping the knitted throw closer around his shoulder as she told him that sword in hand Bungo had demanded Bounder Trishle had taken her behind the blockade and stared down the goblin gang that were fuming at the loss of their orc captain. He offered he a shoulder to sob onto when she mentioned that she had wanted to go back when Bungo screamed, then offered a cup of tea that was probably several years out of date and the two had helped each other onto the roof of Bag End to watch the rangers join forces with the bounders to slaughter, wolves, goblins and orcs alike.

Bilbo found out that the dead who had fallen before his illness had been burnt in a grove while he was incapacitated, and so on the way to his fathers own pyre burial he placed an Apache Tear, carved with a Nightshade flower, by the spot of the mass burning. On his arm Captain Proudfoot had seen what he was doing and laid her own tribute, a pendant of carved Ruby carved with the entwined runes for an oak and ash trees. With a jolt Bilbo remembered Betty's true name was Askr and her brother had been named Akarn. He squeezed her elbow slightly and she turned her watery eye to him and rested her head on his shoulder as her wrapped his arm around her waist. They moved forward and Bilbo could hear hobbits in the procession behind them leaving their own mementoes. In time the Rose of Sharyn would be grown in this place, but until it flowered the mementoes would pacify those passed on. Captain Proudfoot stayed by his side until the ashes of his father's pyre were cold and blowing in the wind. Dora sat at his feet, well wrapped in many layers and Bilbo dropped a kiss to her curls as he picked her up balancing her on the other hip to the side he was supporting Betty on. When he reached the child's father he passed her off with a large hug and grandmother Baggin's amber necklace. 

In the months that followed Bilbo barely left the smial, avoiding mirrors when he could, unable as he was to see his own grief-pain filled eyes or haggard appearance. He put out a polite notice that he would help with the work, but he didn't want company so he would not be visiting or receiving visitors. At first only the Gaffer and Mistress Coltsfoot ignored his notice and for the first six months they were the only reason he ate or interacted with anyone. Then came a still limping Betty, an embroidered silken patch over her missing eye and a box tucked under the arm that wasn't wielding the carved oak walking cane. Almost three months after Betty's first arrival and at the start of the next winter season Fosco Bolger turned up with his daughter Dora and the news that his two boys were well. Bilbo ended up taking care of both Betty and Dora during the winter season, the seven year old keeping him too busy to fret much and Betty distracting him with stories of her childhood.

Spring came in a blaze of warmth and colour and Bilbo started to slip out, heavily disguised and wandered the woodland surrounding Hobbiton. He started to pour over his grandmother's books again and when the next winter rolled around he started to train Dora in the basics of herb lore. He had a willing pupil and the child was happy to tag along with him during his trips to the woods that Fosco trusted his baby girl to a lad who was barely out of his kit years was a wonder around Hobbiton, but they were always accompanied by Betty Proudfoot and so the gossips couldn't be too scandalised. The next three years were trained learning from Betty, teaching Dora and avoiding those who tried to take his home from him.

Three years after the fell winter and at twenty-one, three days after one of his relatively unknown Took cousins went missing Bilbo stood before the mayor of hobbiton and presented his case for him keeping control of Bag End and not letting Longo Baggins hold it until he came of age. It was an emotional filled speech, but relied solely on facts and the information that even though he was under age he had Fosco, Betty, the Gaffer and Mistress Coltsfoot all advising him and training him. Unsurprisingly he won the right to remain there without Longo (or worse his wife Camilla's) interference. He even managed to get the mayor to issue a writ that stated he was not to be bothered over this by anyone other than the four hobbits he relied on. After this had passed Bilbo wrote a letter of apology to his grandfather Took who took it all in good humour and agreed he was much too far away to be truly available, beside as Thraine he need to be available to everyone. Bilbo took to visiting his Tookish cousins with glee after that.

The down side of getting to know his Tookish relatives was that many of them were prone to going missing and occasionally their bodies would turn up, mainly whole, but occasionally with wounds. He always kept Dora away from this news, believing that she had lived through enough for her age already. That Fosco agreed meant it was easier, but trying to stop his Tookish cousins talking was hard work, and since they were the best people for a young Dora to apprentice her healing on she was around them a lot. It was during his visits that Bilbo learnt the basics of how to hold his own in hand-to-hand fights. The rough and tumble he had relied on as a child and in Hobbiton not cutting it with the Tooks. He was a fast learner and soon came to the attention of Saradoc, he found he loved the other hobbit's dry humour and lightening reflexes, even if he didn't appreciate trudging across the Shire to sew the bloke up. He watched carefully and found the Tooks controlled the Bounders and despite what the rest of the Shire had always thought these patrols were the only reason the Shire was as safe as it was. He thought about asking for some weapons training, but decided the Shire need healers and religious leaders as well as Bounders.

At the age of thirty he had successfully mastered his estates and his tenents were always happy to have a chat with him. He grieved with one such family when they lost their daughter Tanta at the tender age of three to Influenza that had developed into violent pneumonia. Bilbo had been unable to save her due to her the weakened lungs she had been born with and his guilt merely pushed him further into his grandmother Baggins' journals. He started to follow the old ways, and to his surprise found the superstitions around when to pick certain herbs had meaning and actually improved the quality of stock he could collect. He learnt about the darkness that was in the world, reading about creatures large and small in his grandmother's hand-writing and hearing her voice make smart comments. He found copies of dwarven script in her journals and so started up his own studies again. He came across two dwarves who were travelling through the Shire and used his gathered knowledge to keep the meeting between his grandfather and the Iron Hill envoys short and uninsulting, he took the time to listen to their Khuzdul conversations and found he could follow them fluently, despite his eves dropping he kept the fact he knew their language to himself.

Two months after his thirty first birthday Bilbo received a frantic missive from Saradoc and headed to Tooksborough to meet with his cousin. His heart sank as he found out Jenny, the youngest of the clan had been missing for two days without a trace, Saradoc had heard rumours that orcs had been seen on his borders and was terrified he’d lost another family member, Bilbo found he couldn't blame him and writing a note to leave the Gaffer in control of his estates while he search applied all the knowledge he had gained to finding the kit. He had spotted orc tracks after two panic filled days and left the signs for, sending the Took with him to get Saradoc. Adrenaline pumping he found himself creeping along, following the trails. When he heard them he barely thought of his own safety and his lack of weapons, swinging himself high into a tree he froze as he caught sight of little Jenny. She was a wee thing to start with, but surrounded by the hulking forms of the orcs surrounding her, and curled up, shaking in fear she seemed tiny. He found himself shaking in rage and horror, barely having time to draw a breath as a huge orc pushed through the others, setting them to blood-freezing laughter. Eyes wide he saw the weapon hanging at its side and his senses screamed at him that the creature would use it, and Jenny would not survive a blow from a single one of the barbed thongs. He roared his anger and flung himself from the branch without pausing to think. If he could buy time the Saradoc may be able to save Jenny. He used every hand-to-hand skill he had, hearing the bones break in several of the smaller orcs when his blows landed. He couldn't last long though and found himself hanging between three orcs as the creature turned from Jenny. He felt his eyes widen as a cruel sneer passed the creature's lips and he knew then his death wouldn't be fast. He scream at Jenny in their native tongue, telling her to cover her eyes and ears. As the creature moved into position behind him Bilbo found he had knocked an orc out and his ears also picked up the sound of hobbit field signals. Forcing himself to go limp as he heard the sound of a whip moving through the air, Bilbo found himself almost cracking his teeth at the pressure he exerted in trying not to scream, white hot pain flooded through him as he felt the flesh of his back split down to the bone in three jagged lines. He gasped raggedly as the orc slowly peeled the thongs from his body, his eyes caught sight of two bounders kneeling where Jenny had been lain and a final shred of pain forced him to black out even as he heard a whip being drawn back again and the twang of a bow being release.

He wallowed in fever delirium for three exhausting months. Voices, vaguely familiar, occasionally broke through the haze, but it wasn't until the day he felt a phantom lash strike his back, he snapped from the fog in his brain. He was lying on his front, and his back was bare and being smeared with a paste of some kind that simultaniously burned and numbed. Tipping his head he could see Jenny curled up in Saradoc's lap, with Dora watching what he assumed were the healers with wide eyes. He was in the main Took smial then, exhaustion over took him and he faded into blackness.

When he next woke up he found he had been turned onto his side and was propped between two cushions. He tried to move and groaned as the tender skin on his back pulled, wait, that didn't feel like skin. Since he was alone Bilbo managed to work his way to the edge of the bed and cautiously lowered his feet. Placing them firmly on the floor he took a firm hold of the edge of the bed as he attempted to stand. Pain rushed through his back at the movement, but it was dulled by what he suspected was poppy milk and he found that although his legs shook dangerously he could stand. Sighing in relief he lowered himself to the bed and set about checking he had full mobility and feeling in his legs and feet. He ended up exhausting himself and passed out on his front again.

When he came to the third time he knew instantly he had been drugged to keep him under and muttered a string of unflattering curses at his healer. He was greeted by Saradoc's laughter and the news he had impressed the healers by being able to move with his back still held together by stiching and bandages. His cousin helped him to sit and drink a small glass of water, before Bilbo allowed himself to start questioning. He found out his scream of rage had been a better locator than their tracking skills, and Saradoc had had the bounders use the orcs' distraction to get Jenny out of there. Bilbo felt exhausted by the time he managed to get his cousin to stop apologising and demanded to know what happened next. He was amused to find that the orcs had been angry he hadn't screamed and that Saradoc had taken the orc slasher out with a single shot inbetween the first lash and the second. His fellow archers had taken the rest of the orcs out seconds after that. They'd carried Bilbo back to the smial where it had been touch and go as to whether he would survive. Dora had surprised them all by turning up with the solution to the infection that had set into the wounds only a couple of hours after their return. The wounds and blood loss the healers could treat, but nothing they had tried fixed the infection. In the end it had been literally burnt out of him. Bilbo groaned when he found Dora had refused to leave the room. That child would be the death of him. He was left to his thoughts after that, and found for the next few weeks he had little energy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tuberculosis, MTB, or TB (short for tubercle bacillus), in the past also called phthisis, phthisis pulmonalis, or consumption, is a widespread, and in many cases fatal, infectious disease caused by various strains of mycobacteria, usually Mycobacterium tuberculosis.[1] Tuberculosis typically attacks the lungs, but can also affect other parts of the body. It is spread through the air when people who have an active TB infection cough, sneeze, or otherwise transmit respiratory fluids through the air.[2] Most infections do not have symptoms, known as latent tuberculosis. About one in ten latent infections eventually progresses to active disease which, if left untreated, kills more than 50% of those so infected.
> 
> Tuberculosis (TB) is a bacterial infection spread through inhaling tiny droplets from the coughs or sneezes of an infected person.  
> It is a serious condition, but can be cured with proper treatment.  
> TB mainly affects the lungs. However, it can affect any part of the body, including the glands, bones, and nervous system.  
>  _Typical symptoms of TB include: ___  
> 1) A persistent cough that lasts more than three weeks and usually brings up phlegm, which may be bloody.  
>  2) Weight loss.  
> 3) Night sweats.  
> 4) High temperature (fever).  
> 5) Tiredness and fatigue.  
> 6) Loss of appetite.  
> 7) New swellings that haven't gone away after a few weeks.
> 
>  
> 
> _Stones used at memorial ___
> 
>  
> 
> The most common of grieving stones is the Apache Tear and is often called the “grief stone”. Apache Tears can be exceptionally helpful when dealing with the loss of a loved one. Apache Tear is actually Obsidian and is very dark but transparent. When you hold a small piece up to the light you can see through it.
> 
> Ruby heals wounds of the heart as it soothes and mends emotional tares. By repairing and strengthening the link between your body and emotions, Ruby also helps ensure that your inner feelings are truly reflected in your outer expressions.
> 
>  
> 
> _Translations (Old Nordic to English)._
> 
>  
> 
> Akarn=acorn.
> 
> Askr=Ash.


End file.
